


Avalanche

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Cliche, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-16
Updated: 2010-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack is injured, Daniel helps take care of him at home. The lid comes off, in a good way. No particular season, but before "Meridian." And the H/C is very mild here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avalanche

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my very earliest Jack/Daniel stories, but I have great affection for it. It dates from 2006. Also I wrote it in one day!

Sam was like a kid in a candy store when P6M-121 turned out to have a mountain of the purest trinium they had found so far. She stewed and glowed and paced and helped develop the interview questions for screening the geologists and the mining engineers that would need to be hired, while she waited for the follow-up mission to get organized. Jack said they were gonna decimate the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers if they kept discovering all these dirt-moving career opportunities.

Soon, but not soon enough for Sam, they got hold of enough suitably cleared earth scientists. She and Jack went back with three teams, support, ATVs and tiny flatbed trailers, and miles of rappelling gear, and it must have been pretty much like a vacation in Durango until the avalanche.

Daniel and Teal'c had sat this one out, since the mission couldn't really make use of their talents, the planet apparently having been flagged by the Ancients and never exploited. No people, no inscriptions, no structures other than the stargate, not so much as a gold-inscribed marble slab to trip over. Just a DHD with a few new symbols, which Daniel could study quite comfortably from his office, thank you, without that insane rappelling. Without any of that. At all.

Which was why he was well caffeinated and well rested when the compound fractures and the crushed ribs and the suffocations started pouring through the gate. Sam was entirely unhurt; she'd been at base camp with one of the new geologists, testing the samples the teams had chipped out of a cliff face, comparing results with the two prototype spectrometers -- the ones that made full use of all the information they'd been able to understand so far from Ernest's database as well as what they'd been able to glean from Jack before he'd had his Ancient knowledge wiped. So Sam coordinated the rescue and the triage offworld. The injured overflowed the SGC infirmary and gave the E.R. at the A.F. hospital in the Springs a very tense couple of hours. Which was why, after ten nerve-wracking hours of trying to help Dr. Frasier as best he could, and another six of intermittent dozing in a plastic chair beside Jack's cot, Daniel was helping Teal'c navigate a wheelchair containing a concussed, bruised and very cranky colonel up the sidewalk to Jack's door. His injuries were among the less serious, and one less patient at SGC meant that Dr. Frasier's overtaxed staff would have that much more capacity for the critical cases.

Once inside the house, Teal'c, massively silent, ignored Jack's protests and simply picked him up, carried him to bed and tucked him in. Meanwhile, Daniel put the two typed pages of nursing instructions under the prescription bottle of Tylenol-with-codeine on the kitchen bar, and opened the fridge. Pickings were slim. Either he or Teal'c would have to go to the store. He heard Teal'c's heavy, slow step, and turned.

"O'Neill fell asleep almost immediately after being placed in bed," he stated.

"Good, that's good," Daniel said, straightening. Their eyes met, and only then, as if mirroring each other's never-stated anxiety, they sighed and relaxed.

"Does not a refrigerator ordinarily require its door to be closed for proper operation?"

"Oh. Yeah." Daniel let the door swing shut and stared at it. There was a photo of Cassie and her dog, held up by a Homer Simpson magnet, and a magnetic strip advertising Pike's Peak Pizza Pies: Best in the West. Nothing else. The stainless steel gleamed dully. "I guess I'd better go pick up a few things at the grocery store."

"I will remain near O'Neill."

"Good. Good."

Daniel wasn't gone long; there was a supermarket less than a mile away. He restocked the fridge and the cupboards, patted Teal'c's shoulder, and sent him back to SGC. The house was very, very quiet. He got some canned chicken soup and Tylenol inside of Jack, and over several hours badgered him to sip, in all, three quarters of a 20-ounce bottle of water. There was nothing on television. Books could not absorb his worry.

The house was very quiet.

On schedule, the clock radio blasted Def Leppard. Daniel had changed the station from the classical one Jack had had it set on, figuring they would be sure to actually wake up if it were eighties rock. Daniel fumbled for the off-switch in the dark. The blue numbers said 12:01.

"Daniel."

"Jack?"

"That you?"

"Yeah." Daniel leaned and switched on the bedside light. Jack winced. "Sorry; so sorry, but I need you to open your eyes."

Jack obeyed, wincing more. Daniel quickly checked the size of the pupils and clicked off the light.

"I'm home."

"Yes."

"There was a rockslide."

"Yes, on the trinium planet."

"Casualities?"

"Sixteen injured, two dead. Sam is okay."

"Damn."

"Go to sleep, Jack. I have to wake you up again at four."

"Damn."

Daniel reached out in the dark and put his hand on Jack's shoulder. It was warm, but not too warm. He fell asleep like that, listening to Jack breathe.

The second night, he was done having to check for bleeding in the brain, and he could let Jack sleep whenever Jack wanted to. The television hurt his head, he said. So did music. He listened to Daniel read aloud; boring stuff, didn't matter what. He demanded that Daniel read, and then he'd fall asleep, but wake up when Daniel stopped. The third day, soup worked, and part of a grilled cheese sandwich, and weird stuff. Ramen noodles. Baked potato with chili. Ice cream. Lots of ice cream. There was kind of a nest of Daniel's papers and books and glasses and palm-sized recorder for notes on one side of the bed. Jack and his extra pillows inhabited the other side. Jack was cranky. His head hurt, his ribs hurt. He had repeated, ambitious ideas about getting up. Daniel quashed them, ignored them, tried not to argue.

"I don't know that this is such a good idea." It was too late to be stating such fears; he'd already given in and run the bath water, but he really felt that it was true. He wasn't at all sure that Jack should try to walk around much yet.

"Goddammit, I stink, I feel like dirt and tape and that crappy antiseptic wash, goddamn brown stuff sticks all over you, smells like a fucking hospital, just quit your whining and help me, here."

The tub was steaming and Jack's arm was heavy around his neck as they limped into the bathroom. Daniel had pulled off the strapping around Jack's ribs, sucking in air at the sight of the deep purple bruises that disappeared into the low-riding waistband of Jack's pajama bottoms. He helped Jack push them off, helped him sink into the deep, long bathtub. Daniel sat on the toilet lid, watching Jack sigh deeply and close his eyes, the pained frown lines disappearing, and only then did Daniel notice what, exactly, they were doing, how sweet and even seductive it would have been had the circumstances been different. Daniel shook his head. Yes, definitely there was no justice in this universe. None at all. His sense of irony was immediately overwhelmed by worry and gratitude once again, but it had been a nice moment of levity. He sighed, and watched Jack's face. He let his eyes drift and admired, again with embarrassed gratitude, the planes and angles of his body through the water, tiny wisps of steam curling around him. Jack's forehead started to sweat.

They sat there in silence until the steam stopped, the water starting to cool off just a bit.

"No bubbles and no rubber duckie. No fair, mom," Jack said, without opening his eyes. A bead of sweat had left a shiny trail down his cheek. He needed a shave. Daniel smiled. Jack slowly raised his hands and grabbed the sides of the tub and started pulling. Daniel lurched forward to help, getting his hands behind Jack's shoulders and pushing. Jack achieved sitting up.

Moving stiffly, like an old man, he fumbled for the bar of soap in its holder, and looked around, perhaps for a scrubber. Daniel shook his head, trying to make himself get organized, get to work, and took the soap away from him. He twisted to find the pile of towels and cloths he'd put on the sink cabinet. Jack was blinking at him, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his thighs. Daniel's gaze slid away from Jack's eyes, away from the wavering shadows that obscured his groin, and he bent toward the tub. Daniel lathered up a washcloth and reached for Jack's back.

"Just shut up," Daniel said, before Jack had a chance to think about saying anything in the first place. Jack grunted, but that was all. _ News flash: Jack follows my order! Well, there's a first time for everything,_ Daniel thought, trying for professional competency, like one of the nurse's assistants at SGC.

Soft creamy foam spreading over brown skin marked by white scars, not so many as Daniel had expected, but too many for complacency. As many places and times and experiences as the two of them had shared through the years, this was a first. He felt Jack sigh. His glasses steamed up, so he took them off and put them on the stack of towels. He kept going, moving out from the knobs of the spine, rubbing lightly over the fading bruises, scrubbing more firmly at Jack's neck, at the collar line where he knew the skin must itch. Jack kept saying nothing, but he lifted his elbows to the sides of the tub, inviting, and so Daniel continued, washing Jack's ribs, the swell of the lat muscles, holding his breath in suspense and washing Jack's armpits and along his biceps. It was.... It was beautiful. It was really important; he really wanted to do this. Even relaxed and off guard as Jack was, his muscles were impressive, his flesh somehow.... compelling and dear.

Again the gratitude -- for Jack's life, for a day of cheating death and the fates once again, for these moments, private and sweet and to be treasured in surreptitious memory. Sweat gathered under Daniel's shirt and ran down his back. The room was hot. He finished the parts of Jack's sides and back that he could easily reach, and rinsed his hands. Jack's skin was so smooth, so warm. It drew at Daniel's hands as soon as he was no longer touching. He put aside the cloth and the soap and gently pulled on Jack's shoulders, and Jack obediently leaned, slowly, painfully, until he rested his back against the sloping end of the tub. Their eyes met, caught, held. Daniel licked his lips, but he looked away first. He got up and went back into the bedroom, thinking vaguely that he should find Jack a clean pair of pajamas -- such a nice feeling, cool flannel after a hot bath, cloth sliding on warm, clean skin. He dropped his head, his breath coming hard all of a sudden. He felt like a voyeur, like he had partaken of a forbidden pleasure. _Which is what, precisely, I've done._ He wondered what Jack had seen in his face. He didn't know whether to be hopeful or fearful. He heard water sloshing gently, and closed his eyes, almost panting, helpless to prevent himself imagining Jack washing himself -- his chest, the skin behind his knees, his groin -- helpless to prevent the erection that wanted to bloom in response.

When Jack called him, crotchety, demanding, he bit down on his lip, and plunged back in there and helped Jack stand. He climbed out, Daniel helped him dry off with the towels -- firm legs, firm ass, gorgeous and off limits, _stop thinking, Daniel_ \-- and then Jack shrugged into his clean PJs, leaning on Daniel hard. The minor pain in Daniel's lower lip was good. They shuffled their way back into the bedroom, and when Jack was mostly horizontal again, he sighed and closed his eyes.

"I bet you'd love a shave," Daniel ventured.

"Oh, we'll save that. Wouldn't want to run through all the fun vacation activities the first day." Jack waved a limp hand, and Daniel just stood there and looked at him. Soon Jack was snoring slightly, and Daniel went out into the living room and threw himself down on the sofa and tried to read.

"You can leave me here and go get some work done, you know," Jack shouted later. _Oh, so he woke up,_ Daniel smiled, closing his book. He wasn't reading it. He was seeing Jack's skin, water droplets sliding along it.

"I've got the computer here. I'm fine," he called back.

"You're bored. I'm okay."

"How about lunch," Daniel said, and got up and went into the kitchen. _You're bored,_ he mentally translated, replying to Jack's thought. _Maybe time for some TV._

Soon Jack did succeed in shooing him away during the day, a couple of short workdays in the mountain. He'd leave Jack with the remote and a variety of fluids and snacks and come back early in the afternoon. He couldn't stop himself from continuing to occupy half the bed, though, even though it wasn't strictly necessary, and Jack, he noticed, didn't kick him out.

Then came the morning Daniel woke with a start. An inhale told him he was lying on his side, pressed close against Jack's back, his palm curled across the top of Jack's thigh, on top of the bedspread. The exhale told him Jack was awake. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did. Jack was lying there awake, letting Daniel snuggle up to him, Daniel's automatic morning hard-on pressing in the most friendly and blatant way imaginable against Jack's buttocks. Daniel snatched his hand up and rolled, sitting up, looking for his glasses. His face was hot.

"And good morning to you, too," Jack said, his voice clogged with sleep, not moving. Daniel got up and went to make coffee. He stood there in the kitchen, in front of the machine as it dripped, not seeing it, all his senses consumed in the bodily memory of Jack's smell, Jack's warmth, Jack's back and legs curving into his. The yearning to go back in there and lay himself against Jack again was so strong, he had to close his eyes.

_I have to get out of here,_ he said to himself.

"You feel like coffee this morning?" he called to Jack.

They spent that morning on the deck, in the warm sunshine. Jack was still pretty dizzy and his head hurt if he sat too long, but he was certainly pushing it now. He was crabbier than ever, but at least he could watch movies if the room wasn't too dark. When he got back from SGC that day, Daniel moved all their crap into the living room, and this was good, this was better: Jack in the recliner, him on the sofa. Sure. This was definitely better.

The next morning, the same thing happened. The very same thing. Except for, that morning, Daniel murmured, "Sorry, sorry," before he rolled away to grab his glasses and practically fall out of bed and flee to the kitchen to make coffee. Jack had some that morning, for the first time since he'd been hurt. He shambled into the kitchen to pour it himself. Daniel was sitting at the table, pretending to look at Jack's newspaper.

"Don't torture yourself or anything, okay? It's not necessary," Jack said. He didn't meet Daniel's eyes.

That was the last day Daniel felt he could or should sleep there. Jack was fine, it wasn't necessary now, it was getting too close to an edge that Daniel felt very ambivalent about. What did Jack think? Did he like the snuggling, the simple human connection? Did he not mind it? Jack was something of hugger, had been known to be anyway, at least under duress. And what the fuck was Daniel thinking anyway. As if Jack had anything on his mind other than nudging his body to obey him again, settling his scrambled brains again, getting well. And furthermore, they had to arrange transportation and get dressed and within the week, go to two funerals. They had actual stuff to think about, that Daniel needed to think about, other than this kind of self-absorbed, self-indulgent stuff. They had to talk to the team; to their mourning, shaken colleagues. Worrying about Daniel's snuggly tendencies and his morning wood was certainly the very last thing Jack O'Neill was going to lose any sleep over. Get a little perspective, Daniel. Get a grip, here.

He gathered up all his stuff, except for the stuff that was in the laundry, or that he couldn't find, and that was pretty much that. He went home. He kept in touch.

Soon Jack was coming in to work every day once again, ribbing the drivers General Hammond sent for him, disdaining the cane that Dr. Frasier still wanted him to use, wearing his sunglasses a lot against the fluorescent glare, getting better every day. And finally he was completely better, officially recovered. And finally he was cleared for duty.

First mission post-rockslide, they were on a planet similar to the Land of Light -- Hellenistic-era, a peaceful, agrarian civilization that was prepared to honor, even worship the SG-1 team after a shipment of garden-variety, full-spectrum antibiotics ended a winter epidemic of bacterial pneumonia that had killed way too many of the people. It was sad. It was so wonderful to actually be able to help; to do some good at no cost to themselves. It was the cold season; the danger was over, they were camping, Dr. Frasier had actually come herself and had stayed up late, teaching some of the women and the elders how to use the new medicine.

And it happened again. Daniel woke up in the morning in their tent, wrapped around Jack, his front to Jack's back, their sleeping bags tangled, except this time Jack was still asleep and he had Daniel's arms firmly hugged against his stomach. Daniel listened to Jack breathe, smiled, hung on to the moment, until Jack woke up. Jack lay there a minute, and then he gently patted Daniel's arms, and heaved himself up to go outside and piss.

Next night among the grateful Greek-like people. Same thing. It was barely dawn of their last morning on the planet; they were all packed up and scheduled to head on home after meeting with one more contingent of elders. These cold nights in tents were getting way too comfortable, apparently, because Daniel woke up this time with Jack facing him. Jack was asleep with his head against Daniel's shoulder, and they were wrapped in each others' arms like an old married couple. How well Daniel remembered sleeping like that, and he figured Jack must remember, too. Like riding a bicycle. Once you got used to sleeping with someone, if you liked it, and oh how Daniel had liked it, you never really got used to sleeping alone, ever again.

_Old habits,_ Daniel thought. And then, _I should probably say something._

But he didn't. He didn't say a word. He didn't move, he didn't speak, he lay there and frankly savored the warmth and the contact and the feel of Jack's body. And when Jack woke up, Jack twinkled at him and smiled that knowing, caustic, half-smile, and he tilted his head up and kissed Daniel firmly, gently, on the cheek. Then he nuzzled the spot briefly, and -- this, at least, was getting predictable -- rolled away, stretched, got up, and without a word, went outside to piss.

Daniel flopped onto his back. He was too astonished for coherent thought. They ate breakfast, packed up, and went through the gate and got home.

Time marched inexorably on: Missions and meetings, Tok'ra plots, uncooperative Tollans, annoying Tau'ri politicians, elusive Goa'uld bad guys, the usual.

One weekend Jack had hosted some of the guys, mostly diplomats and soft-science types, for poker. Daniel, puzzled but cooperative, had come at Jack's insistent invitation, and after several rounds of cards and a certain amount of drinking, had gotten himself cornered in the kitchen by the negotiator from SG-10. He wanted to speculate on just what had happened to that deceptive scientist, Linnaea, who had escaped them so effectively two years previously. He was afraid he had heard a rumor of her on a planet his own team had recently visited, and he wanted to pick Daniel's brain.

When that conversation finally wound down, they were the last two guests left.

"Look at the time; the wife's gonna kill me," Kovachek said, and he made his goodbyes. The front door shut behind him.

Jack looked at Daniel over the ruins the party had left on the two card tables -- stale Fritos, scraped-out dip bowls, empty beer bottles, wet napkins, scattered poker chips.

"You can help me clean up. In the morning," Jack said. And he turned and went down the hall, like he expected Daniel to follow. Daniel raised his eyebrows and did, feeling a cheery tingle of anticipation that he tried to squelch. He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom. Jack had turned down the bed and was pulling off his clothes and dropping them carelessly on the floor. Daniel stared -- impossible not to -- his mouth going dry, his heart hammering. Was this happening? Was this what he thought it was? He clutched the doorjamb tightly. He felt a little dizzy.

Jack stripped to his boxers. They were dark plaid, cotton. They looked old and well washed and soft. He casually pulled his dogtags over his head and piled them untidily on the table next to the clock radio. Daniel stared. Jack put a knee on the bed and looked at him, his expression neutral.

"You're not gonna get all shy on me now, are you?"

"No, no, I ..."

Jack looked at him, and Daniel felt, rather than saw, that something in Jack was starting to close down, was starting to pull back in the face of Daniel's dithering. Jack looked at him for a long moment, his face expressionless, then he dropped his gaze and got into bed and rolled clear over to the far side, ending up with his back to Daniel. Daniel found he could move now that Jack wasn't staring at him like that, enigmatic, intent.

He moved to the bed, watching Jack's naked back, watching how it sank as he breathed. He felt awkward and unprepared. He took off his glasses, folded them on top of Jack's dogtags, and slowly undressed. Jack lay there with his back to him. Did that mean trust? You didn't get the exposed back of a Special Ops colonel for no reason. Did that mean Jack was trying to let him off the hook? Not be too blatant in the invitation, if invitation it was? Or did he simply not want to watch Daniel undress? Like you trained yourself not to look below the navel when you were in the showers, going back to being 13 and in gym class? Never look openly. Steal looks; compare it all, yes. But not openly.

Daniel realized his clothes were on the floor with Jack's, and he was still standing there, his knees against the mattress, staring at Jack's back. Jack was still, as still as only Jack could be. Daniel climbed in bed.

He turned on his side so that he could continue to watch Jack's back, and then he remembered to flip over and turn off the lamp. But first, he made sure the clock radio was off. It had been tuned back to the classical station, he noticed with a smile. The blue numbers read 2:19.

Then his breath caught and stopped, his chest getting tight, his cheeks hot, because Jack's hands were on his back, tentative and cool, and Jack was pulling while he pressed himself up against Daniel, pulling him near. Daniel felt warm lips on his nape, and he couldn't see the blue numbers anymore. He had no senses other than touch, nothing but touch -- knowledge of skin, and warmth, and that burning, vivid point in space that was Jack's lips, against his neck.

"Say no," Jack whispered.

Daniel swallowed. "Yes," he said, his own voice startling him, loud in the dark.

It was as if he'd released Jack, sprung him from a trap of some kind, opened a gate that had held back a flood or an avalanche, because it was a little unnerving, how Jack moved after that. He grasped Daniel's shoulder and pushed and Daniel turned, and Jack's arms came around him, hard, and it was a collision, a crash of skin and flesh and bone. It was awkward and fast, and their lips bumped and missed and caught. It was the kiss Daniel had waited for for years, yearned for for years, shamefacedly, secretly, and here it was.

He opened his mouth, fearful, rushing, pulled Jack to him like Jack would fall away if he let go. Jack made a strangled sound and kissed Daniel fiercely, leaning on one elbow, a rough, big hand on Daniel's cheek. He tasted of whiskey and bread. He tasted of himself, of life, of everything Daniel had ever wanted.

He moved closer as he kissed, pushing his tongue into Daniel's mouth, pushing his knee across Daniel's, and Daniel's chin came up and he moaned as he took Jack's weight. Jack was hard, as hard as Daniel was, and this was heaven, this was everything. This was too fucking good to be true.

Jack pulled his mouth away and turned his head, breathing hard. He stroked Daniel's lips with his thumb.

"Thank god," Jack murmured, and kissed him again. "Thank god."

Daniel smiled, and the joy that boiled up inside him made him want to laugh. This was weird, this was so weird and so great. He wanted to play now, wanted to see what would happen. Would Jack let him... would Jack want.... What would Jack do?

Daniel moved their legs and found some leverage and rolled, and Jesus, Jack let him. Jack lay under _him,_ now, and Daniel felt drunk with it, the dregs of his buzz from the party nothing in comparison. He petted Jack's shoulder and kissed him, kissed him hard, chewing a little, tasting him. Jack wrapped an arm around Daniel's neck and gave as good as he got, tongues, lips, hot breath, but he stayed there, lay there under Daniel, and it was so, so intoxicating. He would never get enough kissing, he believed, but there was so much more to do now, so much more to find out, and that would be good, too, so good.

So he shifted, still purposely pressing into Jack, stomach, dick, thigh, and kissed along his jaw, kissed his neck. He was sure Jack could feel him smile, and he took his time, kissing, sucking, careful to leave no marks, and Jack's warm hand was against his throat, and Daniel slithered against him and kept moving down, until he could worry the nipple he found and press his penis against Jack's thigh. Jack was holding him close, moaning a little, and Daniel, still smiling, found the slit in the front of Jack's boxers and Jack's erection slanted willingly through it. It was warm and alive in Daniel's hand, pulsing and smooth and hard, and Daniel explored the satiny skin with gentle fingertips, feeling a drop of moisture, feeling a fast strong pulse that made him push himself harder against Jack's leg. He bit down on the nipple in his mouth a little harder, and Jack jerked and swore and then he said, "Please -- Danny," and Daniel just about lost it right there.

He abandoned his kissing and leaned up to see Jack's face, vague in the dark. He got with it, stroking firmly and fast, and he watched Jack's face until Jack opened his mouth and jerked and shook his head on the pillow. Warm and sticky, and hey, good plan there, because the boxers would be all damp now but not the sheet. Daniel felt big, felt happy and grateful and strong. He felt like singing or running, but all he did was press another kiss to Jack's neck and shift until he could help Jack wiggle out of his boxers. Jack held on to him and tried to breathe.

"This is lots more fun without the bruises and the concussion," Daniel observed, breathless.

"You're telling me," Jack said, and this was a voice Daniel had never heard before -- lazy and happy, low and affectionate. Daniel blotted at the come spattered on Jack's thighs and belly and then tossed the boxers toward the center of the room. He could see now; his eyes were used to the dark, and Jack was looking at him gravely. Jack raised a hand to his face and pulled Daniel into another kiss. It was thoughtful, sweet, and Daniel just hovered there and let Jack search out whatever he was looking for in Daniel's mouth. It took a while, and Daniel was even harder by the end of it. His hips twitched a little when Jack's mouth released him, and he felt Jack's hands at his waistband.

"I think we have some unfinished business here to conclude, Doctor Jackson."

"Oh yes, certainly," Daniel said. "I think so." He was dizzy. He was babbling.

Jack sat up and pulled his underwear away, taking the covers down to Daniel's ankles in the process. Daniel lay there, wondering at his confidence, wondering that he didn't feel the least bit embarrassed, as Jack swept his hands over Daniel's skin, looking and admiring, and his hands passed closer and closer to his groin, and when Jack finally folded his hand around Daniel's balls and bent his head, Daniel groaned. Loudly.

Jack's mouth was on him, and Jack had turned and moved so that if Daniel had tried a little body origami, or had in fact thought of this sooner, it could have easily become sixty-nine instead of what had, in fact, happened, but that was okay, it was all okay. He clung to Jack's legs and felt Jack hold him still and Jack was sucking him. Jack knew how to do this. Jack was really, really, really, really good at this.

Daniel realized he was chanting Jack's name and tried to stop, tried to rein himself in, but he couldn't. And Jack had moved again, somehow, moved himself and moved Daniel, and his mouth was pushing and receding, pushing and receding, and Daniel's balls were getting lots of perfectly synched attention, too, and his legs were open and loose, and it was all so warm, so warm -- warm beautiful darkness that smelled like Jack and felt like skin. When Jack pushed a slick finger inside him, he bucked and came, calling Jack's name again and again.

It wasn't morning when Daniel woke up. The blue light of the clock told him it wasn't even close to dawn. Everything was quiet; quiet as a mountainside, quiet as the gateroom in the middle of the night, quiet as Abydos when the moons were all down and the stars seemed capable of setting the very sky on fire.

He was warm and relaxed and Jack was pressed against him, breathing against his neck. Daniel smiled, and hugged Jack's arms a little tighter against his stomach. It was all skin, warm and soft and smooth in places, wiry with hair in places. Jack's leg was wrapped possessively across his own. Daniel felt a little sticky -- dried sweat, maybe some come. Jack's breathing was even and peaceful. They could definitely clean up. In the morning.

end.


End file.
